


Did You Miss Me?

by sh_blackburn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Jim loves Sherlock, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock leaves to save John, did you miss me?, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sh_blackburn/pseuds/sh_blackburn
Summary: Sherlock decides to save John (or his heart, depends on how you see it), never mind the consequences or what the consulting criminal really wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happened exactly two years ago, before S4 and was written because of the hiatus. It wasn't really that bad, but I thought I should rewrite it. It's better now, I think, but if you find the characters OOC, blame it on the fact I haven't watched Sherlock in a long, long time.  
> Chapters are short, hopefully frequently added.  
> Thank you!

_Dear Jim,_

_I am not afraid of you. You were my weakness, but I am not afraid of you anymore. We shouldn't fear the pain, you said. We shouldn't fear.  
_ _I am you, and you are me. We are the same. It's not like I didn't know that before. I said you were gay, the first time we saw each other. I never denied, John couldn't see that. You did. Bravo. We are the same. Idiotically in love with somebody we cannot have.  
_ _I realized that when you fell from the Reichenbach Falls, in my mind, in 1895. What you symbolized wasn't my weakness anymore. It became my strength. You want to burn my heart? I am aware of your beautiful plan. So perfect, so clever. You are taking my John away from me, so you can get yours. Mary Morstan. It sounds similar, Moriarty and Morstan. You are taking him away right when I realized something so, so important. You are burning my heart.  
_ _John loves her, but I will do everything I possibly can for him to be happy. I just want him to be happy.  
_ _That was why I killed Magnussen. He was a threat to Mary, so he was a threat do John's heart, and consequently to mine.  
_ _And what if it hurts? It hurts so much, but if a life with this woman is what makes him happy, I will not let her break his heart.  
_ _You will not stop me.  
_ _Of course Mary is a liar, I know that. But John loves her. There is nothing I won't do for him to live peacefully with her and their daughter._

_We are so alike. We are both in love with somebody we cannot have.  
_ _You know you can't have me, and I know I will never have my John. I knew that then, in St. Bart's, when I was ready to fall for him. Only one of your men would have been enough, I was ready to fall.  
_ _You saw that, didn't you? You couldn't stand the thought of somebody else having me if you couldn't. That was your plan, send Mary Morstan to London. Let her take John's heart before I could do that.  
_ _Don't think you won. I will keep her safe, she won't destroy his heart. Because if she tries to do that for the third time, he... (oh John, forgive me for the second one, for the first one please feel free to blame Mycroft, the Afghanistan war was his fault). I would rather have a happy, married friend than a destroyed lover.  
_ _And I definitely prefer him, even as a friend, than you.  
_ _Never, Jim. You will never have me. Yes, we are alike, but we stand on the opposite sides.  
_ _I don't want to try and change my side, thank you. I am doing well with the angels here, even though they are breaking my heart.  
_ _You will never have me, Jim. Not today, not tomorrow, never.  
_ _I am quite aware of the fact that Mary Morstan is here to burn my heart.  
_ _And still, I am willing to watch after her, like a good angel. Masochist.  
_ _You are a masochist too. Drowning in a feeling you cannot express, I am not blind.  
_ _You won't have me,  
_ _love,  
_ _SH  
_ _xxx_


	2. Chapter 2

Leaving the plane. Mycroft's leading me like a doped up kid, but I feel good! Perfect! Extraordinary!  
Drugs clear up my mind.

John's taken Mary's hand. It hurts.

Mycroft, leave me. I can walk by myself.  
Mycroft, leave me alone! I wanna get back!  
Mycroft, John was there!  
Mycroft, I've nearly finished!  
Mycroft!

It was 1895. I'm not from that time, remember? Even if I were, I couldn't have been with John. And he still had Mary.

Mycroft, leave me, it hurts! My heart hurts!  
Mycroft, I just want John!

We're walking, getting into the car. Mycroft makes me sit down between John and Mary.  
I close my eyes and we go.

John, look at me,  
John, see, how I'm hurting!  
John, see, how I would do anything for you!  
John, why don't you see that?  
John, see!  
John!

He's not answering, of course, he can't hear. I can't hear, I shut myself so it wouldn't hurt when he says _my love_ to Mary.

“Sherlock.”  
I can't hear.

“Sherlock!”  
Ignoring. I'm not here!

“Sherlock!”  
I'm not here! I'm not here! Go away, Mycroft!

“Sherlock.”  
You too, John! Don't wanna hear you! Go away!

“Morphine or cocaine?”  
“Both, John.”  
“When? There was no time.”  
“Before, long before.”  
“He wanted to tell me something. It sure as hell wasn't that Sherlock's a girl's name.”

Cause it wasn't. No. Figure it out, John. Figure it out. Please. I will not say it.

 _You cannot fear pain!  
_ I fear it. I said to you in my letter, that I don't. I want to believe in everything I told you. But I do fear it. You're dead, first of all. I shouldn't hear you. I shouldn't write you mental letters. You're dead! Dead!

 _You fear it! Pain... Feelings... Does it hurt?  
_ I don't! I am not afraid!

 _John is in danger...  
_ No! You're dead! Shut up!

 _You are afraid that you still have a heart.  
_ No! Get out of my head! Go away!

“Sherlock.”  
John.

“Sherlock.”  
John, I think love you.

“Sherlock!”  
John, I have a heart.

“Sherlock! Talk to me!”

“John,” I moan. Of course. How can I talk!

John sights with relief. I lean on him. Not sleeping. Just leaning. I'm a doped up kid. Mycroft! See? You're right! I admit it!

“Sherlock, are you okay?”

“Heart,” I whisper.

I can't see how he looks at me, but I know, know!, that he exchanges looks with Mary.

“Sherlock? Does it hurt?”

“John, I have a heart.” It's quiet. Too quiet. Does he hear me? Can he understand me?

“I know, Sherlock. I always knew it.”

“But I didn't, John. I didn't.”

I can hear Mycroft thinking, I hear him thinking that I took only to find my heart. And I know he's right.

“Sherlock.”

“I'm not used to emotions, John. I have no knowledge about that.”  
I don't care about Mary. Nor do I care that she's Moriarty's fucking agent. That's a detail, a small detail.

 _For the great minds no detail is small.  
_ SHUT THE FUCK UP!

John tries to pet my hair and I know he looks at her.  
John, figure it out.  
John, think!

“Sherlock.”  
Mycroft.

“We're almost there. Baker Street.”  
John, come back to me.  
John, come, live with me again.  
John!

We stop. They take me. I walk obediently. They sit me in my armchair. Ms Hudson brings tea.

 _You know what tea stands for?  
_ I know, Jim. I know, shut up!

 _You also brought me tea.  
_ Cause we're the same.

 _Yes, Sherlock. Exactly._  
Go away!

Mary doesn't want tea, she asks for coffee instead. Mycroft sits in John's armchair. John sits at the desk, Mary opposite him.

“So he's back,” I say.  
Back, not back? What does it matter? He's always been here. Who's Mary?

“He's back, brother dear. For you.”

 _Yes, darling, for you. And if I can't have you, nobody will._  
 _I'll burn the heart out of you._  
 _I’m your king. You should see me in a crown..._  
SHUT UP!

“I think he needs to rest.”  
John, there's no time!

“Oh, of course. Please, get him to the bathroom.”  
Mycroft, why?

John walks me. I go. I lean on him, although I know I can obviously do it myself. I know how to walk, thank you.

“John.”  
“Yes?”  
“I have a heart.”  
“I know, Sherlock. I do.”  
“And that heart hurts.”

He takes off my jacket. I lean on the cold wall.

“Sherlock, I don't understand.”  
Oh, John.  
_Oh, Sherlock. You know how I feel now?  
_ He unbuttons my shirt. My hands tremble. It was never like that, what happens? Why does it hurt so much?

John.

He takes off my shirt. Walks to the bath, turns on the water. Checks the temperature.

“John.”  
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
"There’s something I should tell you.”  
“I know.”  
“You figured it out, right? That it was not the thing I wanted to say.”  
“Yes, Sherlock.”  
“I didn’t want to leave you with that kind of knowledge. It would have been harder for you. I couldn’t have told you that before, I tried to keep you safe. If you knew, he would have known, too.”  
_But I did._ I know.  
“Tried to keep me safe.”  
“I always did. From him. Do you know what was to happen if I didn’t jump?”

He’s silent. Takes off my trousers. I feel different, weird.

“They were told to kill you. I’d rather you had a broken heart than a broken neck.”

It hurts. My heart hurts.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”  
It hurts.

“John.”  
He looks at me.

“I can do it myself.”  
I stand before him, almost naked, and he’s just taking off my pants. The bath’s almost ready.

“John.”  
He looks at me. Has to look up, he’s so short. Hugs me. It feels wrong and right at the same time.

“Sherlock. Don’t talk.”  
He rises on his toes, puts his lips on my cheek.  
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”  
And leaves.

“Thank you, John.”  
He can’t hear that. He walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, Sherlock.”  
They went out. Everybody went out, left me all alone. Even Mrs Hudson. Went out.

“Oh, Sherlock.”  
I made tea. Two cups. A table. Violin. This time Mozart. Concerto No. 5. Beautiful piece.

“Oh, Sherlock. I’ve been waiting so long, too long.”  
He came. I knew he would come. He’s sitting in my armchair. The metaphor. I’m his John.

“Stop it.”

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks. He’s smiling, a smile of a psychopath. And he really doesn’t look like someone who just recently woke up from the dead. Oh, Jim.

“No, not anymore,” I reply. I’m not afraid of you, Jim. I’m not. We shouldn’t fear the pain, should we?

“So you were,” he sings. He loves to sing. We should play together. A mad duo.

“Of course.”

John’s not here. He’s with Mary. I miss him. Why are you not here, John?  
John?

“But not anymore.”

“No.”

No, you fell in my mind, 1895. You stopped being the virus on my hard drive.

“What happened? What did I miss?”

I laugh.

“You died.”

He looks horrified. _I died? Really?_

“I died?”  
Oh, he didn’t say ‘really’.

“You’re me, and I’m you.”

“Yes.”

Oh, this voice drives me mad.  
“Do you know where are we identical?”

“We’re better than everybody else.”

“Yes, something else, too.”

I’m calm. Absolutely, totally calm.  
John didn’t kiss me.  
John didn’t go out.  
John’s here, he’ll be here in a moment, he has to!  
John!  
Yes.  
The door’s opening.  
Yes.  
Closing quietly.  
I can hear him.  
Yes!

“Of course. We’re the same. Oh, Sherlock, we were made for each other!”

He would think that, yes. The truth, it is the truth. Because who the hero would be if he didn’t have a villain?

“I proposed to share my flat with you.”  
“That was you?”  
_Oh, Sherly, don’t disappoint me like this!  
_ “Of course it was you. Of course! The improbable one. Anonymous, too?”

“I tried to get your attention. Do I have it?”

“Absolutely, Jim.”  
I can hear John outside the door. Jim doesn’t? Good.

“Be with me.”  
He asks. He asks!

“No.”

I have to be careful with words.  
John’s outside.  
Jim’ll do anything to get me.  
He’ll kill John.  
He’ll burn my heart.  
No!  
John!

“Be with me. You can’t be so much in love with him.”  
I am.  
John.  
Hear it?  
John!

“No.”

“Poor Sherlock. Oh, dear, your heart!”  
No!

“Oh, Mary! Your time has come!”  
He sings. Again. If not for this psychopathic sing-song voice I’d be ready to come with him.

“What do you mean?”  
“I wonder what will hurt you the most.”  
“Don’t think I’ll ever come with you willingly, if you hurt John.”  
He doesn’t pay attention to my words.

“Kill Mary and the child? Or kill Johnny-boy?”  
No.  
No.  
No!  
“Or both? First Mary, and you’ll see John hurting. Then him, so you’ll be hurt, too. Oh, Sherlock! Then we’ll finally be alone! Me and you! I can even spare the child for us, if you want!”

“Don’t think I’ll ever come with you willingly, if you hurt John.”  
“A threesome?”  
John, don’t enter now, please.  
“Jim.”  
“I won’t leave you alone, you know?”

He stands up, leaves his empty cup on the table. Walks to me, puts his hand on my cheek. I can hear the door opening, Jim surely hears it to, still, he doesn’t react.

“I won’t leave you alone.”  
He leans in and whispers to my ear.  
“You’ll be mine, Sherlock.”

I feel John looking.  
I feel Jim kissing me on the cheek, the same place, where John put his lips hours ago.  
Fuck off, Jim.  
You won’t get me.

“You’ll be mine! Fucking mine! You understand?”

He leaves me. Looks down at John, standing in the doorway.

“You will not take him from me, Watson.”  
“Sure I won’t, Moriarty.”

Jim walks out. John stays. Sits down in my armchair. Like Jim, just like Jim.  
Help.  
John.

“You’d do that?”  
I don’t understand. I pretend I’m lost in my thoughts.

“What?”

“Would you go with him to save me.”

“Yes.”  
I don’t even think about it. I know the answer. I’m stupidly in love, right?

He’s silent.  
“John.”  
“Thank you, Sherlock.”  
“There still is the thing I had to tell you.”  
“Right.”

Short. Sharp. Like in the army. He knows, so why should I even say it?  
Because he’d like to hear it.  
John?

“He knows, so there’s no reason for me to hide it anymore.”  
“You were worried I’d be indiscreet?”

Oh, I remember that!

“No, I was worried he’d be. But he knows. He even said it.”  
“What?” he stops for a moment. “Oh.”  
“Exactly, John.”  
“Oh, Sherlock.”  
He’s worried.

“You know we can’t.”  
John!

“I know.”  
“I’ve got a child.”  
He didn’t mention Mary. Good.

“I know.”  
“And Mary.”  
Right, bad.

John, John. John!  
Oh, John!  
_Oh, Sherlock._

Right, bad.  
I feel low.  
I don’t look like it, but I feel low.

“Please, Sherlock. Say it.”  
“I can’t.”

I hide my face in my palms.

“Sherlock.”  
I love you.  
You can’t hear it, can you?  
“Sherlock?”  
“It’s difficult, John.”  
“Just say it. Three words, Sherlock.”  
“Four.”  
Four fucking words I whispered to myself a hundred times.  
“Four?”  
Say it! Say, say, say it! Do it, you coward!  
I can’t.  
“Your name after.”  
Oh, Sherlock, just say it.  
_No! You’re mine!_  
“Sherlock. I want to hear it. From you, not from that murderer.”  
“I can’t, John.”  
“Sherlock.”  
I can’t.  
I have to.  
“ I-”  
I can’t. I stop. Breath. My heart beats too fast.  
Oh, John.  
“I love you, John.”  
Finally.  
“When?”  
“When what?”  
“When did you realize that?”  
“I don’t know.”   
“You don’t know.”  
Question? Question expressed like a statement. Maybe a statement?

“John, never in my life has there been a person, I’d more than tolerate. There’s Mrs Hudson, of course, I think I like her; and Gavin is useful. Still, I know nothing about love. About feelings. It might as well be a bit longer infatuation. Or just plain sentiment. John, in the beginning I was prepared to tolerate you. I needed a flatmate. Then I decided you’d be useful, as an army doctor. You remember our first talk about feelings? At Angelo’s.”  
“Yes. You said you’re married to your work.”  
“And I said girls aren’t really my area.”  
“But you didn’t say it about boys. And I asked.”  
“Exactly. So, tell me, doctor, what does that mean?”  
“You’re gay.”  
“I never said otherwise, did I?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
“You never thought about it?”  
“No.”

Oh, John. I’m tired. I want to sleep. Impossible.

“John.”  
“Yes?”  
He looks at me, deep in thoughts.  
“You going back to Mary?”  
“She’s my wife. Of course I’m going back.”

He stands up. Me too. He hugs me.

“Be careful with her.”  
“I know.”  
“Take care of your child.”  
“You want to keep it?”  
He’s joking. I notice his smile. He has a beautiful smile. Oh, John.

“John!”  
We laugh. We both look away, then at each other. And then we laugh.

“I’m going, Sherlock.”  
Don’t go. Please.

“Have a good night.”  
Stay.

“You too.”

I know I look after him sadly. I don’t smile when he can’t see me.  
When he’s by the front door, he whispers something. I can’t hear it. I wish I could.  
Farewell, John. Good night.  
I look after him with sadness when he shuts the door behind him.

I fear for my heart.  
Oh, John.

He left. I knew he’ll leave. He doesn’t sit in his armchair, as usual.  
Oh, John.

I made tea. One cup. A table. Violin. This time Bach. Partita No. 2. A difficult one.  
Oh, John.

He left. He left me all alone, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid for him. He left.  
Oh, John.  
Oh, John.

I fear for you, John.


End file.
